Tales from the Road Less Traveled

Gryff was upset. He was interesting anomaly in Skullwatch, with his recent arrival to the Barony of Skullwatch, the population of his race, that of hobgoblin, had just increased to five. Of course, he was responsible for the other four so the arrival of him and his companions had caused something of a minor sensation within the barony. Being of goblin heritage, his kind was not beloved at all by the the very human majority realm of Cormyr at all. Yet, due to his exploits, he and his companions were either tolerated or looked upon, at least, as curiosities. Gryff and his accompanying racial kin were of large stature, being sightly taller and broader than humans and they had dark grey skin with ruddy hues. They were out of place for this region and being considered curiosities actually suited Gryff well, for the time being.

However, today, he had just heard the news coming out of the Barony of White’ Beard’s Landing that Rynskaald the Bold had just been slain. It had happened two days prior. The Baron of Skullwatch had learnt of the green dragon’s demise by carrier pigeons sent out by the Baron of White Beard’s Landing himself.
“Damn them!”, he cursed in his native tongue of High Goblin to no one in particular.
Switching to the Cormyrian tongue he yelled for more ale. Gryff needed to think. He and his company needed coins and gems and taking out an nuisance adult green dragon would have provided plenty of both.

Gryff’s adventuring company, or rather his elite mercenary company, was known as Gryff’s Band. Gryff was the captain and its mage as well.
He was one of five hobgoblins of great skill and intellect plus fifteen humans of equal capacity which comprised his band.
Currently, he and his band were garrisoning, so-to-speak, an interesting little tavern known as “the Skull’s Watch” and using the town and barony of Skullwatch as a base of operations. Operations intended specifically to bring down the exact dragon that had just been laid low at White Beard’s Landing.
Therefore, the precise reason for his being in the Duchy of the Northern Marches had just been rendered moot.
And this was precisely why Gryff was not happy.

A moment later a fat human, the proprietor with the name of Llewellyn appeared with the demanded ale. Gryff quickly bowed his head in a gruff manner of appreciation, drew half the flagon in a single gulp and smiled as a thought emerged.

The dragon was taken at White Beard’s Landing. Of course, his hoard was not there as that was not Rynskaald’s home.
Gryff slammed his palm down on the table with a resounding thump “Gods and Whores!”
Gryff was irritated that the obvious had not dawned upon him earlier.
The damned fool’s at White Beard’s Landing had just made his job that much easier. He quickly rose and flipped the fat human several Falcons.

“Quincy!”, yelled Gryff with a glint in his eye and a fang filled smile.
“We need to go to Dragonspear to see the Count, then we ride for White Beard’s Landing. All of us!”

Pock strides confidently through the gates of the keep at White Beard’s Landing. His crimson cloak still wet from his journey across the Sea of Storms.

“Good day Magi Pock. It is good to see you again.” The gate guard smiles at the diminutive visitor.

“My apologies good sir, I have not the time for pleasantries. I must see the lord immediately.” Pock thrusts a small package wrapped in linen and tied with twine into the gate guards hands as he walks past. Pock calls over shoulder without breaking stride. “Elf Bread cookies, they go excellent with mead.”

Pock winds his way through the keep with rote familiarity until he reaches to the audience hall. Two of the Eldritch Griffins stand guard at the door.

“Halt, little one. The Baron is not to be disturbed while in council.” Both guards grip their weapons as Pock reaches into his pack and produces two more linen wrapped packages.

“By the 26th rule of hospitality, I request audience from host by the urgency preset by him. I offer these gifts as per custom to amend any hurt feelings.” Pock holds out the packages for each of the Griffin soldiers.

The guards look at one another in confusion.

“For Tymora’s sake… Lord Baalthazar is expecting me and if you don’t let me pass, he’ll likely throw you back in whatever dungeon you were found.” One the guards, probably the one with the most intelligence, proceeds to open the door causing Baalthazar and Zasheir to look up from the papers they were discussing.

“My Lord, this gnome states that you are expecting him.” Seeing pock at the doorway Baalthazar nods and waves him in. Pock holds out the packages and waits for the guards to take them. Shaking his hands in urgency the guards, finally take the gifts.

“Elf bread cookies; they are really quite good with mead.” Pock whispers as he closes the door. The magely gnome strides proudly to the table that Baalthazar sits behind. “I found it sire, it was exactly where Saraphus said it would. Behold the Flametounge.”

Pock retrieves the sword from the Heward’s Handy Haversack that Baalthazar had lent him and presents the sword to Lord Baalthazar.

Prologue

So it came to pass that in the concluding months of the Year of the Starfall, the year Thirteen Hundred, as reckoned according to the Calendar of Harptos, that great tome kept in Candlekeep, which records the years of the rising of humanity since the Great Shattering of the Elven Realms, that a certain Lord Baalthazar, the only Dragonborn noble enrolled within the Great Peerage of the Kingdom of Cormyr retired to his barony to govern in relative peace. More specifically, this dragon-blooded baron, master of the most northerly town within the kingdom, had returned from a daring adventure conducted during the month of Marpenoth and Uktar. This most noble baron boldly took the initiative and resounding dealt with the Raumatharrii giants who had claimed a fjord-top fortress known as Skullcrag Keep. This keep was situated nearly 30 leagues northwest of the western terminus of the small human realm of Telemark and it sat about a hundred feet directly overlooking a deep inlet of the Sea of Storms. It had been the main marshaling point for the giants of the distant and foul kingdom of Raumatharr to affect raids into the northern and eastern counties of Cormyr for decades. The dragon-blooded noble, whose origin, based on myriad rumors, was said to lie south of the near mythical Great Raurin Desert, which is said to exist below the strange and fabled realms collectively known as the lands of Al-Qadim, of the great sunburnt lands of Al-Zakhara, had led a band of his daring comrades across the Sea of Storms where they, against all odds, actually took the fortress in a brazen direct assault. In the end, Lord Baalthazar and his stalwart allies reigned triumphant and returned back to his barony of White Beard’s Landing with much loot and renown. Hence, upon the twentieth day of Uktar, Lord Baalthazar retired to his keep and disavowed campaigning for the foreseeable future. His decision was, of course, prudent as he could now fully initiate his plan to revitalize his most northerly barony of Cormyr without fear of any outside threat. This, then, forced his remaining companions to start contemplating their respective futures without his noble presence, within the context of continuing a life of adventure, where the possibility of great rewards were intertwined with the chance of a quick, abrupt and grisly death.

Uktar gave way to Nightal and the deep winter of northern Cormyr grabbed hold of the town of White Beard’s Landing by its throat and held fast. Indeed, citizens across the whole span of the County of North March hunkered down within their cottages, thatched dwellings or whatever they called their homes in order to pass the winter months in safety near their hearths with cheery fires. Yet, the warmth of the hearth did not comfort all who sat within earshot of it’s crackling song and sight of it’s dancing light. The goliath barbarian, Pavukan, during this time, continued to dwell in and around White Beard’s Landing, using it his main connection to Cormyrian society when he was not spending time in the highlands to the northwest. He could stand the hearth only for so long and then the cold snowy darkness of the lands outside seemed to beckon him incessantly. Meanwhile both Teodoro and Guillermo, “Ted and William”, in their adopted tongue of the Cormyrians, loved the hearths of others with its merriment and and opportunity. Yet, they felt empty and longed for more excitement so they both continued to use the barony of Lord Baalthazar much in the same way as Pavukan. They used it as a central location as they travelled, braving the elements, all across the County of North March, both restless and looking for adventure and they would return every-so-often and then depart south or west again, ever seeking and never quite finding anything to sate their wanderlust. The stoic and stalwart, Falin, however, spent the winter recruiting and training his growing Company of the Eldritch Griffins, while the pale and strange gnome wizard, indelibly known as Argpoodle devoured historical tome after historical tome in study as he endeavored to suss out any greater arcane knowledge that could be found within northern Cormyr. Furthermore, he would brave the cruel Sea of Storms during the season of Ice and Death upon the waves. Only the demented would attempt travel across the Sea of Storms during the winter months. Yet, he did so as he had, on occasion, found a crazy pirate or desperate merchant ship captain who would take him from White Beard’s Landing to the ice-rimmed fortress atop Skull Crag cliff that he now called his second home and back again as needed. Argpoodle’s fortress was being rebuilt and enhanced by its former inhabitants, those who were defeated but not killed by Argpoodle and his companions. Amongst their number was the frost giant who was the former master of Skull Crag, Prince Arghastan the Vile, the youngest son of the King of Raumatharr. Prince Arghastan had become recently disavowed due to his failure and loss of the fortress and his father refused his son’s ransom. Therefore, the pale gnome arcanist, chose to offer the fallen prince a deal. The prince accepted and Argpoodle of Skull Crag was fast becoming a name in both northern Cormyr and the North Lands as well.

In spite of all their fervor and personal drive as they each pursued their respective goals, both Falin and Argpoodle continued to associate with their half-elven friend, a bard by the name of Raehn “Ydae” Rhydaen. They had met her during Lord Baalthazar’s final quest rid his barony of the Raumatharrii giant threat and she had proven potential in the field. Raehn had stated that she hailed from the barony of Shadowdale, from within the County of Northdales, of the Cormyrian Duchy of Westvold. Raehn had received bardic training from when she lived in the duchy’s capital of Westvold and then proceeded to travel north looking for adventure and inspiration of verse. Raehn had found both via her association with Lord Baalthazar, Pavukan, Falin, Argpoodle and the tieflings who hailed from far away Allara. Raehn, Argpoodle and Falin, were able to form and nurture a type of friendship which allowed them the opportunity to meet at a tavern or two where they were able to exchange ideas about campaigning together for fame and fortune once the spring thaw commenced.

As the Year of the Starfall ended and the Year of the Trumpet began, the three companions had no idea what their gods or the fates had in store for them. But each one of them knew for certain that the stories of their individual and collective lives were not yet complete. Falin, Raehn and the strange little creature known as Argpoodle were more than ready to roll the metaphoric dice of chance and see what where the winds will take them.

A gentle rap came upon the Seraphus the Sage’s door. Quick, yet light, as if the person knocking did not want to interrupt the sage in his studies. Seraphus thinks that it is wasted gesture as he was interrupted none the less. With a huff, the old hermit storms towards the door accidentally knocking over stacks of books in the process. It had been months since the elf girl left and Seraphus thinks he would have been better off if she had never cleaned his tower. With the new abundance of space, the old sage had stacked books precariously around the tower until it had become a labyrinth of dusty tome and forgotten lore. Shuffling as quickly as he could to show his impatience is lost on his caller who could not hear his grumbles or the falling of books from the outside. With a sharp tug, the sage pulls the door open with a force that belies his age. The young boy on the other side is stunned into silence.

“Well out with it; I haven’t got all day,” snaps the sage. The boy, no more than twelve winters thrusts the sealed letter towards Seraphus.

“Beg pardon, good sage. A decree, or summons; no, sorry, a message from Lord Ballspar of White Beards landing.” The lad looks down until Seraphus takes the letter and quickly excuses himself from the meeting.

The old sage stares ominously with one eye, until the boy is out of sight before closing the door and examining the letter. The message holds a wax seal of a rearing dragon which Seraphus carefully removes and stores in one of the drawers of his apothecary. The old codger spends the better part of the afternoon searching for his specatacles, lamenting the fact that his assistant, the elf maiden that left with the dragonborn, was not there to tell him where it was. Finally, Seraphus sits in his favorite chair, adjusts his spectacles and reads the lord’s missive.

To the wise sage Seraphus,

It has been many months since we have spoken and I find that I am in need of council. As you may no doubt know, I have been entrusted with the safety of White Beard’s Landing. As the raiding season for the giants draw to a close, I find that I am in need of scholarly knowledge that may help prevent future raids on our northern shore. Since there is no wizard or sage in White Beard’s Landing to discuss such matters and would like to extend an invitation to you to work in my barony as First Pundit in my council. I understand that this will be a great tax on you and have thus already commissioned a tower to be built for your research. This tower should be twice the size of the tower you currently use. Furthermore, you will have the assistance of Illyana to help keep your tower in order year round. You are aware of her diligence in her duties and welcomes the chance to assist you once again. You will also be able to call on the First Knight, Alastair Truesilver, if you have need in your research. The young noble has proven to be stout of heart and is tenacious in proving his mettle to the kingdom. Finally, I have discovered magical spectacles in our last adventure that allows one to see things in minute detail. Something, I imagine, that would be invaluable in your work. Please send word of your decision so I may make the proper arrangements for your travel.

The illithid, known in these parts of the high Underdark as Sarjakk the Apostate, had a decent lair. The floors of the caverns that made his lair were approximately 95 feet below the exposed surface floors of ruins of Tel Amn Coran. This wasn’t the illithid’s actual intention when it took control of the region where it built it’s small stone abode but upon further exploration it discovered that a natural shifting of the stone and soil had allowed for the lower area of the ruins to be accessed via a conduit created by the flow of underground water. Sarjakk, then, came to value it’s lair as it allowed for access, albeit guarded, to the strange sunlit world above whence it could, via its thralls, effect raids for slaves and sentient food items. Furthermore, the former inhabitants of the ruins, still lived in the area as they through unfortunate magics now existed as twisted beings who valued existence only to collect and trade mystical items. Fortunately, for Sarjakk, these twisted beings valued exchanging what was left of their knowledge or other enchanted items acquired by them through, obviously, foul means for enchanted items that Sarjakk would eventually steal back from them. Therefore, Sarjakk’s current arrangements were quite accommodating indeed….until now.

Ever since Sarjakk fled where he originated from, a place deep under the annoying Stout One’s realm of Morridan, he was subjected to danger and capture. Sarjakk chose to disavow the religion of his kind and fall back (as they would say) into the adoration, no, rather the veneration of their traditional deity called Ilsensine. Illithids, or rather Mind Flayers, as they are more commonly referred to by most of the races which inhabit the sunlit realms of above, didn’t actually worship that which lairs in the Caverns of Thought far below the Concordant Domain of the Outlands, rather, they venerated the godlike being for its vast and all perceiving intellect. Yet, nearly the same time as the surface dwelling elves suffered their world empire ending catastrophe, so too did the members of the unified illithid race which lived far underneath most of the regions of Aerth. This catastrophe of the illithids allowed for the veneration of a far more insidious nature for Ilsensine was one, and the focus of the illithid’s new reverence were (and still are) legion. It has been just over 1,300 surface years since the majority of the illithid race on Aerth had changed their veneration from Ilsensine to that of the Great Old Ones. The Great Old Ones, perhaps, were the original pantheon worshipped, or at least venerated by the illithids, however, the particulars of if and when they were have been lost into time and the vast depths of the Underdark for millennia. Sarjakk, for whatever was it’s own reasonings long ago, decided that veneration of the Great Old Ones clashed with it’s inner demeanor and it began to research the lost venerations of Ilsensine to the great dismay of it’s peers. Ultimately, Sarjakk feared for its existence and fled beyond the limits of its realm. Sixty surface years, in time reckoning, had passed since Sarjakk had found sanctuary below the ruins of Tel Amn Coran. Sixty surface years of relative peace, safety and freedom to raid for slaves and sentient beings for consumption had elapsed and had now had come crashing into violence and danger. It was not that Sarjakk’s lair was exempt from intrusion, in fact, Sarjakk found the occasional foray by the dwellers of the sunlit realms to be a type of boon, for always those incursions were ill equipped, ill led and allowed for Sarjakk and his thralls to capture slaves and food without that much effort. But recently, a large band of intruders changed the decades-old routine. For Sarjakk, his home had been invaded and invaded in force. His thralls were being cut down, and despite the fact that his thralls and creatures had indeed ripped one of the intruders apart, it looked now that Sarjakk, himself, had to make a decision. Should he flee or should he exit his defensive structure and make one concerted effort to do what his thralls could not…and that would be to vanquish these intruders with great prejudice.

These impudent cattle! How dare they burst in on me! They have no idea the pain I shall visit upon them as I dine upon their sentience after they are defeated!
Who is this lizard that directs this band? I shall feast upon him last! And this little one! His mind reeks of adoration for the Great Old Ones. His mind is keen, but I shall keep him as a thrall so he can help replace that which they have destroyed! O, fool of small stature, surely you don’t comprehend the vileness of those which you adore? You shall live, you fool, but you shall learn to adore me instead of those who seek all. For I shall soon be your god!

….thin fingers belonging to a gaunt hand greenish-brown in coloration reached out and sought the locking mechanism to the door which led out into the caverns whence the intruders bettered, or at least equalled, the illithid’s thralls in combat.

Kufuzzle’s knees buckled as the Blue Company clambered up the small rise within the offshoot cave as the all sought refuge. They had just fought a series of engagements as they had descended into the bowels of the ruins of Tel Amn Coran. Several minutes ago Shedinn, the Baron’s brother, had just been torn to pieces. The Company was in retreat and now had to make the decision to stand and fight the remainder of the amphibious beasts or to dive into the nearby tunnel to make a hasty escape.

Kufuzzle had performed admirably in the combats and had not suffered undue damage but he felt that his senses were being overridden again by the being that saved him from a watery death several years ago. This being whom Kufuzzle had identified as a Great Old One would occasionally speak to him from within the depths of his soul. It was altogether an awesome, yet, somewhat, disquieting experience. Kufuzzle had a fleeting thought that of all times, now may not be the best…..as he and the Blue Company were in a tight spot at the present time……
Yet, within Kufuzzle’s soul the words of his savior reverberated throughout his consciousness…..

“Your companion, the Moron, is now no more. He slipped his mortal coil within the surface ruins of which you are now below. If you wish to survive, pray that you remain silent of your reverence to me and my kind. Now is not the time for foolishness. You were saved for a purpose so do not treat this opportunity lightly. Your pact with me must stay hidden and if you remain resolute to this ideal than shall you be well rewarded. If not, then you shall surely perish and my gift to you will be wasted. If that comes to pass then I shall take you for my folly in your afterlife which will, most certainly, be nothing but a horror visited upon you for eternity.
Heed my words……as I do not normally speak freely with chattel such as thee……..Therefore, do not die and do not speak of me glibly. It is not yet time for my return…….Forswear yourself to this and you shall escape this predicament…….that is all. For Now……..”

Kufuzzle swayed with confusion and then regained his composure. And then he saw the door to a hewn stone built structure open and three hell hounds exploded out of the stone structure that barred further delving into the cavern. Kufuzzle, along with Lord Baalthazar and the rest of the Companions, immediately acted and engaged the hell hounds. Combat was furious and emotional as Lord Baalthazar had not yet recovered the from the death of his brother, Shedinn, a few minutes prior. Then to the collective horror of the Companions, an illithid, a dreaded flayer of minds, exited the structure and prepared to engage them. It let loose a vicious blast of psychic energy that rendered Lord Baalthazar almost insensate and unable to act save to slowly move away from harm. The surviving Companions, which included, Lord Cerulyiann; Falin the Mercenary; Kufuzzle the Dread Pirate; Dorm, priest of Moradin; Zasheir, Master-of-No Locks-at-All; Alastair Truesilver, Lord Baalthazar’s squire…who happens to be of august noble lineage himself; and Renny the Sot, Lord Baalthazar’s scribe and ne’er do well; all were coming to the rather obvious tactical conclusion that this situation was deteriorating quickly, decided to withdraw to a cave entrance which, presumably, led away from the Mind Flayer’s lair. However, fleeing did have one serious drawback as the Companions were now faced with descending farther into the unknown realms of the Underdark. Kufuzzle had regained his composure well enough to realize that he couldn’t tell Lord Baalthazar about his knowledge of Maximus’ demise at the entrance far above their current location, as the being he venerated stated that he should remain silent, and besides, the large noble Dragonborn had not yet recovered from the effects of the Mind Flayer’s mental powers. Indeed, there really seemed not options for going back at all since going back meant besting the ‘Flayer and its remaining thralls.

Kufuzzle, however, did not lack a backbone and, with his pact granted telepathy ability, he locked his gaze with that of the Mind Flayer. His intention was to not go into the night, so-to-speak, quietly. He wanted a word with the ‘Flayer. For several quick moments as the others were fighting a defensive battle, Kufuzzle mentally hurled taunts and jeers towards their opponent. Yet, the ‘Flayer was nonplussed and returned scornful telepathic messages back to Kufuzzle. As time seemed to slow due to the chaotic, exhilarating, yet, extremely dangerous situation, the Companions decided it was time to go. Starting with Renny, the entire company of Companions fled the Mind Flayer’s lair by jumping down into the downward descending cave opening, this included the dazed Lord Baalthazar who was being led by his trusty squire, Alastair.

The escape only took moments but many of the Companions would later swear that they heard what sounded like screams of anger coming from whence the ‘Flayer was last seen.

They had been traveling for an undermined amount of time. Even the most experienced of the Companions in dealing with subterranean environments was bereft of the concept of time. In fact, the entire company was disoriented in such measures that their individual ability to do almost anything with proficiency had become degraded. They were suffering fatigue, hunger, low moral and were on the verge of losing all hope when suddenly those of the Companions who were acting, in a fashion, as scouts, reported that the chaotic, narrow and torturous tunnels and passageways that they had been traversing suddenly seemed to open up into a large cavern. This news greatly cheered the company but failed to dislodge their full disorientation.

The company exited the passageway and immediately realized that they had come across the site of a past combat, of sorts, where now the denizens of the dark were beginning to feed upon he remains of, what appeared to have been several adventurers and the corpses of several creatures, presumably slain by the deceased and their now departed associates. The company tried to move to off to the left along the wall of the cavern but were noticed by a couple of giant scorpions who acted without hesitation and attacked, perhaps thinking that their food supply was being threatened. Again, the Companions found themselves in combat, during which, Lord Baalthazar, despite his torpor, spotted the remains of what could only have been another one of his kind. At this point, Lord Baalthazar, in an anguished state, immediately lost all control and ran to the the crumpled remains of the anonymous dragonkith. He scooped up the remains and secured the ruined corpse in a large sack. In this context, combat against the various carrion feeders and denizens of the Underdark, Falin was engaged in a deadly back & forth exchange with another giant scorpion while others in the company had to deal with a phase spider and more giant scorpions. So it was unfortunate, due to the cursed and ever present ‘fog of war’, that the fallen adventurer’s former comrades appeared and seemed to advance from the rear areas of the cavern. This triggered an almost automatic response from Lord Cerulyiann, who wasted no time at all, and fired off one of his most reliable cantrips…his Fire Bolt. The small bolt of fire lanced threw the gloom and struck a large individual, who, in the resulting flare up of light, seemed to have pale whitish skin and a shock of red hair. This caused the newcomers to withdraw and backpedal to the unknown area from whence they came. Dorm and Kufuzzle followed as the battle with the carrion eaters was subsiding with a victorious conclusion in favor of the company without a doubt. Soon they were backed by Alastair and a truce was established where the newcomers could be identified as friends or, hopefully not, as foes. The ambient tension of danger soon faded away as it became evident that the newcomers were, indeed, the fallen adventurers comrades and that they were no threat to the Companions. It was then, just and hails and introductions were being made that Kufuzzle felt the need to ridicule Lord Cerulyiann, yet again. This provoked a change in the normally aloof Vyshaantari elf and he withdrew the perimeter of the conversation with an angry fire in his eye. The elf noble then chose not to engage with anybody further and remained silent. With Lord Cerulyiann humbled and quiet, Kufuzzle and the others focused on introductions and information exchange. It became evident that they had encountered the survivors of another adventuring company, called the Company of the Iron Shield and its leader and most of its members perished at he hands of Sarjakk the Apostate, the very same Mind Flayer, whose clutches the Company had just escaped. The current ‘leader’, so-to-speak, was a Deep Gnome wizard by the name of Argpoodle Nikwiggle Burblesplat and had absorbed the remainder of the members of the Company of the Iron Shield into his own retinue. Therefore, that company effectively had ceased to exist. His retinue consisted of, yet another, Dragonborn, by the name of Skylla. Skylla was a sorceress and offered no surname, only that she was known as “Skylla, from afar”. Also in the retinue was a human swordsman who called himself, Fulthark and a halfling cleric who went by the name of Hamm, the Pious. It was never known what deity Hamm served because of he did not display much in the way or signets, sigils, or holy symbols and if he did they were obscured by a large mutton chop that Hamm seemed affixed to his arm. Lastly, a large male whose height must exceed that of 7 feet. This male seemed not quite human and may have had some distant relation to one of the giant races. He wore the trappings of a barbarian of the mountains. He was the one of pale skin and red hair whom Cerulyiann had targeted with his Fire Bolt. This large male identified himself as Pavukan and he clearly weighed almost as much as the massive Lord Baalthazar. It came to pass that at the sight of Hamm’s mutton chop, everybody began to think about food, therefore, the members of the Blue Company requested and was granted, by Argpoodle, extra rations to augment the edible parts of the slain giant scorpions which Falin was in the process of cleaning. Lord Cerulyiann mutual accepted an allotment of rations which he immediately stored away. After this, Lord Baalthazar, still in some sort of daze or battle-delirium, asked if Argpoodle could had the means to heal or bring back Argpoodle’s fallen companions, specifically the other Dragonborn, whose body Lord Baalthazar had recovered. Argpoodle indicated that possibly he could, however, he did state that they may be slightly different. Then, after the passage of uncounted time, the entire assemblage decided that a long rest was needed. With the majority of the Blue Company suffering from loss, sadness and exhaustion, sleep came easily to them while Falin stood watch. Falin observed Argpoodle for a while, as he tended to the bodies of his slain comrades. Then Falin left Argpoodle to his devices after feeling secure that Argpoodle was not threat to his slumbering friends. Falin moved off to one side of the cavern and there he awaited the next person of his company to relieve him from duty.

After the long rest had been completed, the combined group, hereafter, also known as the Companions or the company, roused themselves and endeavored to continue forward as the way back whence they came was regarded as too dangerous. Argpoodle, indeed, seemed to have healed or restored his former companions to health, but, curiously they were fully armored and/or covered so that none may spy their actual physical forms. This, did not, seem to pose an issue to the rest of the company as the overall offensive and defensive prowess of the company seemed increased and this heartened everyone. Argpoodle began a monologue where he told of what lay beyond the dark chasm which formed the far left boundary of the cavern the presently occupied. He indicated that the entrance to another cavern system was about 80 feet below and that cavern system opened up into to a type of fungal forest where water ran and the flora emitted an eerie light. He and his retinue had explored a bit prior to meeting the members of the Blue Company and they found the algae, moss and fungi forest to be a dangerous haven for all manner of giant insects, swarms of deep rats and worse. However, Argpoodle did comment that he thought that moving forward through the fungal forest quite possible could lead to an area from whence they all could find a passageway to back to the surface. Therefore, the collective assembly agreed that going forward was a must, regardless of the threats that may be encountered therein. Without delay the Companions all made it across the dark chasm. They were immediately engaged by a number giant centipedes. These centipedes were certainly a challenge which savaged the Companions severely. Renny the Sot was lost in the combat. His loss sent Lord Baalthazar deeper into the torpor he was already suffering. The Companions were able to reach the boundaries of fungal forest after some time once they had defeated the threat of the giant centipedes without further loss of their own. However, once the Companions had reached terminus of the fungal forest they were stopped by a body of water that they had to cross to continue. It was here that an undead beholder immediately began to assail the combined group. This was the second undead beholder which Argpoodle had encountered in this region of the Underdark so he surmised that there must be have been some foul magics afoot sometime here in the past. Yet, he did not have time to ponder on this mystery as, once again, they all had to fight for their lives in this place.

The fight against the undead beholder actually went better than expected and in short order the foul beast was corrupting the pool of water with its gore. The combined groups were able to ford the pool with no complication and all were across before the water near them became stained with the color of undeath. After the fight, the company collected themselves on the other side of the pool and secured the short tunnel system which continued beyond. They accounted for the treasures that had been accumulated and even located a particular surprise in the form of an, according to Dorm whose fascination was peaked, abandoned dwarves mine, which, again, according to dorm, must have been abandoned sometime before the Shattering, thirteen hundred years prior. Dorm indicated that if the way to the surface exists then it must exist through this mine. Therefore, the Company settled in for a needed long rest and determined that once rested then they would try to enter the mines and search for a way out.

As the Companions rested, the two resurrected associates of Argpoodle stood silently by themselves near the edge of the pool, they spoke to no one and stood without comment. This spectacle, curiously, went unnoticed by all, even to Falin, who, as usual, busied himself with perimeter defense and setting up a watch schedule which would facilitate security as the Companions rested.

After the long rest, the Companions roused themselves, ate rations and ‘broke’ camp, such that it was. Collectively, they all armed themselves and made ready for the next phase of the assumed plan, which was, it seemed that they were to force a way into the dwarven ruins. While resting, Dorm could only make out a faint inscription, in dwarvish, carved above the door which allowed entry into the mine structure. The inscription read “Althanclanngorr” and Dorm seemed to not have much knowledge about the mine itself, save that, precious gems were known to have been retrieved from here. He translated the the inscription for those who knew not his tongue. “Althanclanngorr” translated into “the Starlit Mine”, yet, he could only assume that it referenced myriad reflections which teased the eye when a light source was presented. Dorm spent some time while the others rested in quiet contemplation. Prior to his contemplative time, Dorm had mentioned that something was wrong and that he needed to commune with his deity but he did mention to all assembled that he would attempt to suss out any other recollections of any mention of Althanclanngorr from his studies in lore years past. Once camp was broken, all Dorm could relate to the others was that he recalled that Althanclanngorr was said to have been hastily abandoned several decades before the Great Shattering of the Elven World. Dorm did not recall why the mine was abandoned but did remark that at the very least he would not be surprised if “that yonder door still holds a functioning trap or two.”

The Companions all assembled about thirty to forty paces from the entrance to Althanclanngorr and after several moments seemed at an impasse as what to do next. Argpoodle decided to act. Yet, since he was not a rogue and certainly did not possess skills which would facilitate deft negotiation of the door, Argpoodle awkwardly crept to the hewn stone wall which housed the door but did so a number of paces to the left of the door. Once his back was firmly against the wall, Argpoodle did his best to slowly edge his way forward. He stopped about three paces away from the door’s threshold and was able to notice some fine stonework carvings with very small apertures at regular interval where the frame of the door. Argpoodle then was able to make out the faint impression of a pressure place which lay directly in front of the doorway itself. Yes, he thought to himself, I may be no rogue but this door is definitely trapped. He then reported to the others that he found what seems like a pressure plate.

It was then that Argpoodle felt two small hands within the small of his back. This feeling was immediately followed by pressure and force as those hands suddenly pushed him towards the threshold of the door. With a gasp and Argpoodle was unable to prevent his body from contacting the pressure plate. In an instant, Argpoodle heard an ominous clicking sound. He, and all assembled witnessed multiple small geysers of dust and bits of stone erupt from the sides of the doorway as a least four ancient darts sped towards the hapless deep gnome. Four sickening sounds of impact were detectable as the darts slammed home into Argpoodle’s flesh. The darts, as they impacted, shattered into several pieces and as they each did so they released their ancient contents of powdered metals and other substances, all extremely toxic to living flesh. Argpoodle’s life was terminated even before his small frame crumpled to the ground. The echo’s the sounds of the trap’s activation and of Argpoodle’s body lifelessly hitting the cavern floor dissipated into silence as the entire combined Company stood in mute horror with Kufuzzle standing alone nearest the fallen Argpoodle with his mouth agape.
The abject silence that had descended upon the Company was then suddenly shattered as the sharp and desperate sounds of confused fighting broke out amongst the them.

When it was over, both Pavukan and Skylla ultimately decided to lay down their arms. The two other associates, who were unusually taciturn, of Argpoodle had turned out actually to be undead and they brazen had started attacking any and everybody once Argpoodle had fallen. When that happened Fulthark immediately launched into an frenzy as he realized that his friend and leader had been outright slain at the hands of one of the members of the Blue Company. Fulthark eventually fell in combat trying to avenge Argpoodle. The Blue Company was placed in the damnable position of trying to rally around Kufuzzle after Alastair hastily engaged Fulthark and the uncontrolled undead. Lord Baalthazar, shocked back into his normal self by the obvious reality that those he held dear were in danger of falling to internal strife. Lord Baalthazar seemed to have fully recovered his senses, which had taken a massive hit from Sarjakk’s blast of psychic energy back when they fought in the ‘Flayer’s lair, and began to start acting like his former self. Falin, of course, stood fast and fought to protect the members of the Blue Company regardless of the reason. Dorm, seemingly facing some battle within, attempted at all costs to cease the continuation of the fighting and the impending disaster which comes from blade-to-blade conflict amongst apparent allies. Once the fighting had ceased, it was evident that Hamm the Pious was trying to recover Argpoodle’s body and flee. Alastair interposed his athletic frame so that Hamm could not flee with the body. This caused all focus to be directed at Hamm and Kufuzzle who, seemingly recovered from the shock of his own actions, affected an aggressive and argumentative demeanor with the obviously distressed Hamm. At the same time Skylla, who had, in the combat, only directed her offensive actions towards Kufuzzle, pleaded to join the Blue Company and repeatedly swore that she would not act with ill intent towards the Blue Company as their collective survival depends upon the cooperation of all. The giantkin, Pavukan, seemed sullen and certainly less submissive, so during the argumentative standoff between Kufuzzle and Hamm, Falin secured Pavukan with rope and fetters as to ensure his compliance. After that, Dorm and Falin prepared the undead bodies for immolation in fire as n efficient means of disposal. Falin decided to throw Fulthark’s body in the heap for good measure as well. Meanwhile, the argumentative standoff became more heated and vociferous, to the point that an exasperated Zasheir decided to act on his own. He stealthily extracted himself from the circle of spectators watching Hamm and Kufuzzle and without noise came up behind Hamm, drew his dagger, and in one silent fluid motion brought the blade up hard and fast. With a spray of blood, Hamm’s words died with him and never left his throat despite the clean slash which stretched almost ear to ear high. Hamm collapsed while Zasheir had already wiped his blade and was stowing it back inside the small sheath upon his belt which housed it. The Blue Company was again caught off guard with this, now, second strange and violent act from one of their members. And for several moments of astonished silence, Dorm got a strange look upon his face and moved to flank Kufuzzle and they began to speak quietly for a few moments. Zasheir, facing no immediate retaliation for his actions dragged Hamm’s body to the pile after stripping Hamm of clothing, gear and accouterments. While all were engaged with clean up and perimeter security, Lord Baalthazar, approached the body of Argpoodle and quickly snatched up his lifeless remains with the intent of securing them in his leather sack. Lord Baalthazar, again, ensured that no one present was amount wiser to his actions and then retreated to a far corner of the passageway and sat down. Baalthazar, being a religious devotee than began to contempt upon the recent actions of the Zasheir and Kufuzzle. Shortly, and after on last, long look around he was again satisfied that the Blue company was busy with their actions. Lord Baalthazar, Dragonkith Baron of White Beard’s Landing, closed his eyes and quietly began a prayer of atonement to that whom he venerated. As the clean up of the area concluded all present prepared to set up camp again as it was evident that after all that had transpired there certainly was not going to be another attempted entry past the doorway into Althanclanngorr at the current time.

A few moments later a commotion occurred centered on Lord Baalthazar. He seemed to be acting with alarm and all haste as he attempted to retrieve the remains of Argpoodle from his large sack. Kufuzzle became agitated as Lord Baalthazar laid the body of Argpoodle upon the cavern floor. Kufuzzle’s agitation was based upon the fact that he had thought that all the remains of the decedents had been consumed in the fire now ablaze near the edge of the pool of water behind them. In fact, the cavern air had been heavy with the fetid smell of burning flesh, torch oil and clothing. Kufuzzle’s agitation soon turned to shock which then was felt by the Company as it became apparent, certainly via some supernatural occurrence, that Argpoodle was, in fact, not dead, but was , indeed, alive. In full view of all, Argpoodle groggily fought for consciousness and began to look around at the horrified countenances of the Company, who could, try as they may, not spy any signs of visible wounds upon Argpoodle despite his clothing being punctured and covered in dark, clotted blood.

Lord Baalthazar, with a clarity and a reverence, not usually seen by those who knew him, gave Argpoodle a drink from his waterskin and quietly but sternly commanded the Blue Company to continue finish the clean up and to rest as the they all collectively still need to make their way, somehow back the surface. He added that he would call a council once the confusion haas time to dissipate and resting is complete. Therefore, all went back to their duties: Alastair guarding Pavukan and while keeping a close eye upon Skylla as well. Skylla remained unfettered but had been asked to remain apart from the others. Zasheir had set up his bedding against one of the cavern walls and went back to that area and just sat watching everybody else. Falin secured the extra weapons, which had been used by the two undead and by Fulthark in the fight, within the area of his bedding that was situated not far from Lord Baalthazar. Kufuzzle and Dorm, who after the killing of Hamm was strangely silent and morose, both set their bedding closest to the bonfire where the bodies of the fallen combatants were burning. It was obvious to all that a feeling of unease and tension had descended upon everyone in the cavern. Yet, it was also obvious that nothing could be effectively addressed until after another long rest. With that realization tacitly being understood by all, the Blue Company then settled into a long, albeit, awkward rest with almost no communication occurring at all except for the occasional hushed words spoken between Lord Baalthazar and the, somehow, perhaps resurrected but certainly healed Argpoodle.

An undetermined amount of time had passed, yet, at a minimum it certainly was much longer than what the Company usually figured for a period of long rest. Somehow, each individual, unintentionally allowed the stress and confusion to exacerbate the exhaustion that they all had felt to varying degrees. One by one they awoke with a startle and jumped up in alarm. Alastair confirmed that neither Pavukan nor Skylla had escaped or had done anything nefarious towards slumbering members of the Blue Company. In fact, it had been evident that they, too, had fallen fast asleep. Zashier checked his possessions and Falin, immediately conducted a perimeter check. Lord Baalthazar and Argpoodle looked about and took stock of their environment. The cavern air seemed clearer as it appeared that the bonfire had been reduced to smoldering coals. Then a moment later, a shout went forth from Falin and he called for Lord Baalthazar. The entire company, including the restrained Pavukan and Skylla who was watched closely by Alastair, assembled around Falin. What they saw before them on the ground shocked them all as where previously located were the bedding and equipment belong to Kufuzzle and Dorm there was now nothing but an empty space upon the cavern floor. Both Kufuzzle and Dorm had vanished. Those assembled quickly conducted a search of the entire area from the edge of the pool and the nearby blackened coal embers backlit by a tiny orange glow amidst the a jumble of charred bones within the spent bonfire all the way to the entrance to Althanclanngorr. Not a trace was found of either Kufuzzle or Dorm, save for a curious find that was nearly crushed beneath Falin’s boot. Lord Baalthazar and the others, once Falin stepped back a pace or two, were able to clearly discern a broken hammer and anvil amulet neatly wrapped by the tiny silver chain which secured Kufuzzle’s diminutive octopus medallion. Interestedly, the medallion itself appeared to have been placed on top of the broken symbol of Moradin, which, upon further inspection by Lord Baalthazar, was not, in fact, broken but had been neatly cut in twain by some sort of blade.

The Blue Company, in short order, was able to realize that the placement of the octopus medallion in a superior position relative to a cleaved holy symbol of the chief dwarven god, Moradin, whom, Lord Baalthazar had recalled, was referred to by Dorm, in the past, as the Soul Forger, Dwarffather, the All-Father and the Creator, was indeed a message to them all that being called Cthulhu, the object of Kufuzzle’s incessant adoration, had just achieved a symbolic victory over the All-Father of the Dwarven race. To the stunned assembled individuals, this symbolic victory could only have occurred either by Kufuzzle slaying Dorm and disposing of his remains or, quite possibly, that Dorm, himself, had indeed fallen under the influence of Kufuzzle and had forsworn his allegiance to his deity. Regardless of what had actually transpired while the Company had slumbered, it was certainly evident that Kufuzzle had intended to send his, now former companions, a message that he, the warlock Kufuzzle, neither wished their company nor their companionship. He was gone and so was Dorm.

Lord Baalthazar stood in shock. Even though his close companion had acted strangely and had committed, at the very least, an act of gross negligence concerning Argpoodle. He had felt that the Company could salvage itself and get past the recent events that had transpired. Yet, stalwart Dorm was missing as well. The reality of this aspect of the situation began to become keenly felt as now they had now true connection to the divine magic that had saved them from disaster many times over. What were they to do? What will the Blue Company do now?

Lord Baalthazar then spoke with decisiveness.

“Alastair, take inventory of what we have. Make note of any healers kits and or potions of healing. Falin, oil and sharpen all the weapons and work with Alastair to divvy up any healer’s accouterments and rations amongst us all. Zasheir, study that damn door. You’re our rogue so we need you to be ready to help get us past doors and such. Also, check your lock picks and make sure you have all you need to support us in achieving stealthy success past things we must need get around or through.

Pavukan, despite the perceived treachery which has transpired, can I trust you to work towards our combined efforts to reach the surface? What say you?

Skylla, the same goes for you as well, can I trust you to work towards our combined efforts to reach the surface?

Whilst you both consider your words carefully, I shall continue to speak with our fortuitous friend here. Argpoodle has shown his intent and ability to be of assistance to us and, despite, his miraculous return to apparent good health, we shall continue to treat him as a friend and partner, just as we had before, ah, Kufuzzle did what he did. Is this understood?

Good! Then let’s get to it. Our very survival is at stake.

DM Comments
Wow!!! That was some shit!!!! We had a whole lot of drama that started out from a pretty innocent, yet, negligent action. Awesome!!!.

First of all let me say thank you to everybody who has had their characters endure an extended amount of time doing dungeon crawl after dungeon crawl trying to get through this thing and back up to the surface. It’s not over yet but despite the interesting occurrences of last game session, I think we’re in a really good place for some really good role playing and some really storyline plots. In fact, when you think of it from a literary point of view, we’ve got a whole slew of complications that have arisen for the protagonists.

Now, yes, for all intents and purposes the Blue Company is in an extremely tough spot but this situation grants us a number of opportunities for good role play, good decision-making and players getting to know their characters better. Therefore, I think we’re in for some good gaming sessions ahead.

That being said, I’ll make it known now that both Schuck and Paul have not left the game and it will be only a short matter of time before we are introduced to their new characters. But, yes….both Dorm and Kufuzzle are now gone from the storyline, for now……

I also wish to make it known that my world-view vision sometimes may not mesh, entirely, with what players have assumed and that’s okay. Just give me a chance to bring certain situations that you may or may not disagree with to fruition…then feel free to talk to me about issues that you feel are important.

As for the Cthulhu pantheon, I have read a bit of H.P. Lovecraft and can say that I have an idea of the ‘feeling’ behind the concepts….it’s a form of horror literature and I have been incorporating that theme into my D&D worldview….this clashes with the canon deities of the D&D multiverse and I find that delicious…and I do foresee that you all may meet Kufuzzle again, sometime, somewhere……Now….moving forward the following conditions are now in place…..

1. Every player now may advance their characters to 14,001 XP (no questions asked as no answers will be given, unless it deals with particular aspects up leveling up)….this includes Lord Baalthazar, Pavukan, Alastair, Argpoodle, Zasheir and Falin. This means that the named characters have now crested 6th level. It is up to the players to have them ready, as 6th level character’s prior to this next Saturday, the 25th, which is our next game session date.

2. Skylla, a character played by my daughter, will not level up right now as she is an almost 11 year old and her participation is considered temporary at this time. Young players are welcome but, I cannot, in good faith subject all of you to my lovely daughter all the time during our hobby times.

3. Paul and Schuck will be introducing new characters shortly and have expressed a new found motivation for the game, which, truthfully, I am happy to hear. You guys make sure your new characters are at 6th level as well…..

4. There are myriad dynamics at play in the storyline which arose from the manner in which you all have played your characters. I am paying attention to alignment and have heard, Ad nauseam, myriad views on alignment and what is believed, perceived and such…I will just like to state that as the GM, I reserve the final call, on issues of alignment, period, end, yet, I do strongly take to heart, player’s opinions on the topic.

5. I am going to just run with these dynamics as seem where things take us, yet, since it was established that Lord Baalthazar did intend to meet the threat of the giants harassing far northern Cormyr, I have devised a way that, once free, of the Underdark, we can attempt to meet the Lord’s intentions….

6. Tim, you will shortly, receive a separate email detailing the experiences Argpoodle had while “dead” and will have detailed information on what has changed, if anything, about him….

Lastly, I will say this…I, in a manner of speaking, share some of Stan’s views on gritty gaming, yet we still sometimes argue as if we are married. :-) I understand that we all enter into this with slightly different motivations. Please pay attention to the fact that I tend focus less upon the cartoonish and more upon the gritty, kinda like a high fantasy novel where the protagonists face many challenges with a, somewhat realistic maturity….yet, I encourage all players to play their concepts as they will, just be aware that in my world view there are consequences for everything….both positive and negative…..

Cthulhu Speaks

Kufuzzle’s knees buckled as the Blue Company clambered up the small rise within the offshoot cave as the all sought refuge. They had just fought a series of engagements as they had descended into the bowels of the ruins of Tel Amn Coran. Several minutes ago Shedinn, the Baron’s brother, had just been torn to pieces. The Company was in retreat and now had to make the decision to stand and fight the remainder of the amphibious beasts or to dive into the nearby tunnel to make a hasty escape.

Kufuzzle had performed admirably in the combats and had not suffered undue damage but he felt that his senses were being overridden again by the being that saved him from a watery death several years ago. This being whom Kufuzzle had identified as a Great Old One would occasionally speak to him from within the depths of his soul. It was altogether an awesome, yet, somewhat, disquieting experience. Kufuzzle had a fleeting thought that of all times, now may not be the best…..as he and the Blue Company were in a tight spot at the present time……

Yet, within Kufuzzle’s soul the words of his savior reverberated throughout his consciousness…..

“Your companion, the Moron, is now no more. He slipped his mortal coil within the surface ruins of which you are now below. If you wish to survive, pray that you remain silent of your reverence to me and my kind. Now is not the time for foolishness. You were saved for a purpose so do not treat this opportunity lightly. Your pact with me must stay hidden and if you remain resolute to this ideal than shall you be well rewarded. If not, then you shall surely perish and my gift to you will be wasted. If that comes to pass then I shall take you for my folly in your afterlife which will, most certainly, be nothing but a horror visited upon you for eternity.

Heed my words……as I do not normally speak freely with chattel such as thee……..Therefore, do not die and do not speak of me glibly. It is not yet time for my return…….Forswear yourself to this and you shall escape this predicament…….that is all. For Now…….."

Kufuzzle swayed with confusion and then regained his composure. And then he saw the door to a hewn stone built structure open……….

The illithid, known in these parts of the high Underdark as Sarjakk the Apostate, had a decent lair. The floors of the caverns that made his lair were approximately 95 feet below the exposed surface floors of ruins of Tel Amn Coran. This wasn’t the illithid’s actual intention when it took control of the region where it built it’s small stone abode but upon further exploration it discovered that a natural shifting of the stone and soil had allowed for the lower area of the ruins to be accessed via a conduit created by the flow of underground water. Sarjakk, then, came to value it’s lair as it allowed for access, albeit guarded, to the strange sunlit world above whence it could, via its thralls, effect raids for slaves and sentient food items. Furthermore, the former inhabitants of the ruins, still lived in the area as they through unfortunate magics now existed as twisted beings who valued existence only to collect and trade mystical items. Fortunately, for Sarjakk, these twisted beings valued exchanging what was left of their knowledge or other enchanted items acquired by them through, obviously, foul means for enchanted items that Sarjakk would eventually steal back from them. Therefore, Sarjakk’s current arrangements were quite accommodating indeed….until now.

Ever since Sarjakk fled where he originated from, a place deep under the annoying Stout One’s realm of Morridan, he was subjected to danger and capture. Sarjakk chose to disavow the religion of his kind and fall back (as they would say) into the adoration, no, rather the veneration of their traditional deity called Ilsensine. Illithids, or rather Mind Flayers, as they are more commonly referred to by most of the races which inhabit the sunlit realms of above, didn’t actually worship that which lairs in the Caverns of Thought far below the Concordant Domain of the Outlands, rather, they venerated the godlike being for its vast and all perceiving intellect. Yet, nearly the same time as the surface dwelling elves suffered their world empire ending catastrophe, so too did the members of the unified illithid race which lived far underneath most of the regions of Aerth. This catastrophe of the illithids allowed for the veneration of a far more insidious nature for Ilsensine was one, and the focus of the illithid’s new reverence were (and still are) legion. It has been just over 1,300 surface years since the majority of the illithid race on Aerth had changed their veneration from Ilsensine to that of the Great Old Ones. The Great Old Ones, perhaps, were the original pantheon worshipped, or at least venerated by the illithids, however, the particulars of if and when they were have been lost into time and the vast depths of the Underdark for millennia. Sarjakk, for whatever was it’s own reasonings long ago, decided that veneration of the Great Old Ones clashed with it’s inner demeanor and it began to research the lost venerations of Ilsensine to the great dismay of it’s peers. Ultimately, Sarjakk feared for its existence and fled beyond the limits of its realm. Sixty surface years, in time reckoning, had passed since Sarjakk had found sanctuary below the ruins of Tel Amn Coran. Sixty surface years of relative peace, safety and freedom to raid for slaves and sentient beings for consumption had elapsed and had now had come crashing into violence and danger. It was not that Sarjakk’s lair was exempt from intrusion, in fact, Sarjakk found the occasional foray by the dwellers of the sunlit realms to be a type of boon, for always those incursions were ill equipped, ill led and allowed for Sarjakk and his thralls to capture slaves and food without that much effort. But recently, a large band of intruders changed the decades-old routine. For Sarjakk, his home had been invaded and invaded in force. His thralls were being cut down, and despite the fact that his thralls and creatures had indeed ripped one of the intruders apart, it looked now that Sarjakk, himself, had to make a decision. Should he flee or should he exit his defensive structure and make one concerted effort to do what his thralls could not…and that would be to vanquish these intruders with great prejudice.

These impudent cattle! How dare they burst in on me! They have no idea the pain I shall visit upon them as I dine upon their sentience after they are defeated!

Who is this lizard that directs this band? I shall feast upon him last! And this little one! His mind reeks of adoration for the Great Old Ones. His mind is keen, but I shall keep him as a thrall so he can help replace that which they have destroyed! O, fool of small stature, surely you don’t comprehend the vileness of those which you adore? You shall live, you fool, but you shall learn to adore me instead of those who seek all. For I shall soon be your god!

….thin fingers belonging to a gaunt hand greenish-brown in coloration reached out and sought the locking mechanism to the door which led out into the caverns whence the intruders bettered, or at least equalled, the illithid’s thralls in combat.

The Tale of Sir Drake

Baalthazar kneels behind the urn of Sir Lichtenstein. The morning sun warms his face as it rises higher into the morning sky. There was a chill in the air this spring morning of Mirtul. The raiding season of the giants would start soon and he has not seen his brother in two days. His eyes are closed, but still feels the penetrating of the Morninglord fill his body. He longs to remain in prayer and let the day pass without needing to address the issues of the people, his brother, or his restless companions. One of the kobolds yip beside him; they have never had to sit still this long and are getting restless. The sound of movement in front of him interrupts his reverie, and Balthazar’s eyes snap open.

The morning sun blinds his vision making the hulking figure before him a shadowy silhouette. The kobolds, creatures of the dark, scamper behind Baalthazar, taking defensive stances and blocking the sun with their wiry arms. Baalthazar sees his Lord’s head; it make derisive snort and says, “You have much work to do.”

“Salve draco dominum,” calls the traveler in high elvish as he dismounts his large black steed. “I am Sir Drake, Purple Dragon of Cormyr. You are Lord Baalthazar, I take it?”

Baalthazar stands to get a clear look at the traveler. He wears a white tabard with a purple dragons over polished platemail and carries a shield with the crest of two drakes. The kobolds yip and chatter behind Baalthazar, weaving between each other in a confusing pattern.

“I am indeed, Sir Drake, what bring you to Drachenheim.”

“The Dragonhome? How appropriate. I am here at your service. I was communing at the Citadel of the Northern Dawn and Lathander made my path clear. I am here to train with you.”

“You seek to learn the ways of the Kilij Ejderham?” While it was not unknown to induct humans into the Sword Dragon Order, Baalthazar had never seen one in his lifetime. Sir Drake’s confused look told Baalthazar this was not his quest.

“Nay, my lord. The family Drake has always supported the just dragons of the North. My bloodline is blessed with that of your kin. I am here to pledge my sword to you. You are a knight as I and I came to train you with what I know. I was hoping you would return the gesture. And I here you have giants to practice on.”

Baalthazar smiles at Sir Drake. He had grown weary of humans and their machinations. The Morninglord most assuredly sent Sir Drake to remind the Dragonkith that humans were not that different from his own people.

“Come sir Drake, let us speak over a pint of ale. Perhaps we can learn from one another.”

“You travel with kobolds, Lord Baalthazar?”

“The carry the same blood as you and I good knight. Would we be just in not providing a chance to serve the Morninglord?”

Some debts can never be

Baalthazar inspects the plans for the town Zasheir had drafted up. He pointed to a section on the east side of town.

“I think we should start the wall here. The east has the most damage; I believe with the bog to the south, this is the most common direction the giants attack from. Our forays into the wild lands seem to support this.” Baalthazar traces the line along the east side of town.

“M’lord, are you sure we shouldn’t rebuild the keep first. A formidable bastion the people can seek protection. I doubt we can build a wall before the first raids and the keep has a good foundation. Perhaps we can ask Dorm if any of his kin can help us.” Zasheir points to the location of Chainspire fortress on the map illustrate his point.

Baalthazar frowns; something that is lost on most non-dragonkith, but Zasheir knows it all too well. “That leaves the town unprotected. The giants will tear through the town just to get to the keep.”

“Fret not Lord Ball Spar, the town is already half destroyed. This will just clear the field to build fresh.” Renny hops up and sits at the edge of the table. “There’s little habitable on the east side of town. Although there is a nice patch of wild mulberries there that I would hate to see those brutes trample.”

Baalthazar smiles, and Renny pretends to shirk away. The little herald has grown on Baalthazar and his help has been invaluable. “Tell me master Renny, how goes the plans for the festival?”

“Sent out the invites. Every town down the Sword Coast will have posting on the grandest ranger gala Cormyr has ever seen. Which leads me to my next request, I would like to donate half my earnings to your cause, if perchance I can have one of the abandoned buildings in town?”

“Which building?” asks Zasheir quizzically.

Renny leans over the map points to one of the buildings on the map.

“What do you want with that building, master bard?” Baalthazar wonders what the little halfling is up to.

“Well, it has two features that I look for in a building, a sturdy stage and cellar that’s still intact. The outside needs some work, but I think I can manage. I want to open a tavern…”

The door flies open and Shedinn storms in, hurling a pouch across the room at his brother. Instantly, Baalthazar’s sword appears in his hand to parry the projectile. His other hand is open, palm forward as he whispers, “protect me.” The pouch reaches Baalthazar’s scimitar and stops in midflight, falling to the floor.

“There is the money I owe. My debt to the clan is paid. Do not bring it up to me again.” Shedinn squeezes his eyes shut and grabs head. Zasheir looks at Renny who shrugs and mouths the words ‘hang over’.

“Brother, your debt cannot be paid with mere silver. I do not hold this debt over you. Renounce your debt and you renounce your clan. And you will be no longer be my brother.”

“DON’T THREATEN ME, BAALTHAZAR!!!” The effort made Shedinn bend over in pain. “I did not ask to come to this cold forgotten land of hairless monkeys so that you can play Kilij Ejderham.”

“Careful brother, insulting the Morninglord will bring more than my wrath upon you.”

“I care not of your lord or his trivialities.”

“And you think you will be allowed to soar with our kin without his blessing. He will smite you down and make you walk amongst these hairless monkeys until the end of your days. Come, you need something to distract you from the hairless monkey ale.”

“Bah. You play noble with the humans. I’m going to find a place to be alone.” Shedinn turns to exit the room, he reaches for the door to slam it behind him, but fumbles and grasps at air. Resigned at the attempt, Shedinn simply storms out of the room.

“Brother, don’t travel too far from the town.” Baalthazar waits but gets no response. He looks from Zasheir to Renny.

“Brothers don’t let brothers adventure drunk,” chimes Renny. Baalthazar narrows his eyes at his herald. Renny hops off the table and sighs, “fine, I’ll go after him so he doesn’t get himself in trouble.” Renny walks causally to the door. “I’m gonna bring Alastair with me, the boy needs some exercise and if you ask me Lord Ball Spar, you have been neglecting his training.”

Zasheir noted the look of consternation on his lord. “What are you going to name the tavern?” asks Zasheir to distract his lord.

“The Famous Cock,“ he announces with a twirl of his hand. With a quick spin and exaggerated bow, Renny the Sot disappears down the hall.

The small framed savage stood still in the dark moonlight being stared at by his entourage, and newly acquired traveling companion, whom he decreed an embodiment of Tyr the Northern god of War. his frame drenched in the blood of the hill giant they just faced, entrails and gore littered the campsite…

“I… gran always said you had to before your strength returne to normal.” sheepishly staring at the ground, his polite and sheepish demeanor opposite his feral combat ferocity.

“I don’t think that’s what she meant young one.” Beobarious chimed in attempting to stop a berating. “I’m sure she meant to do it quickly, but didn’t literally mea-”

“It doesn’t matter what she meant Beobarious, it is not something one does in civilized company. I would understand in front of us, but our woodelf companion is of a noble race and I dare to think what her opinion is of our near king after having witnessed this…event…” Valorous interupted.

“But Bob, Val, I have to eat the heart before the magic leaves. that’s the only way I can get stronger. killing something more powerful than me, eating it’s heart, and finding another. I want to prove I’m not useless. if I can’t be smart then I can be strong. I’ll die before I admit that I cannot become famous for my strength.” Max said as a group of servants ushered forward with buckets of water to begin cleaning him off.

“Well let me see if I can do something about keeping you presentable at least. we can use the leaves you found in the den to find a weapon that slays large creatures. Keen, or Maiming, or Flaming, or whatever the kids are calling it nowadays…”

The regal noble looking woman entered the mastiff’s end with a disgusted look on her face, seeing the wares she knew she was in the right place.

“you kind don’ com’ere much. what say you?” the pock marked blacksmith tending the circled forge in the center of the shop didn’t look up from his coals as she turned her nose at the stench.

“I need an axe that can cleave this easily. we are hunting dragons and I am told an axe that can cleave the skull of a giant, can pierce the scales of dragons…” Valorous said flatly as a servant dropped the skull of a giant on the floor, a large gash already in it’s skull.

“I think you have that you are looking for already madam? that mark there is from an axe I see…”

“That is from the strength of it’s owner an the final blow which felled this monstrosity, however the weapon used was sundered in the attempt. and we require one better…”

“Ah, well miss, it seems you want something harder than the common iron, I think I might have some adamantine that I can intersperse with some gold, to give it flexibility and keep it’s cutting edge, work like that doesn’t come cheap madam, the weight and balance that helps with unerringly striking your opponent is lost as the gold overwieghts the blade. but the lost accuracy makes up for it as it would cleave this skull in twain… The edge will stay keen, and slice clear through to vital organs much more easily than a normal weapon. I do not mean to insult your integrity but I do not have the money to buy the materials to craft the weapon. would you have downpayment so that I may start?”

Beorhtic the Vast, Titled ruler of the Grimhold, back handed his manservant so fiercly that the novel he was holding followed with the trajectory of the strike and skittered across the room.
“How does such eloquent words follow such an imbecile!”
the manservant scurried to retrieve the book as his noble bellowed enviously of his sons fame and glory.
“Slaying a Cursed Giant in single combat, only because Tyr sent his avatar to break the curse! this cannot be true tales! MY son cannot garner that much favor to the gods!” his face reddened with anger looking expectantly at his servant as if awaiting an answer.
sheepishly he responded unsure if he was supposed to. “according to the tale m’lord the Giant grew in power each time he was slain, and your son somehow figured it out and finally pinned the flaming monstrosity until Tyr could arrive and deal the divine coup de grace. burning himself badly with the icy flames of the Fellfro-”
“SENDFORHIM AT ONCE!!!” Beorhtic cleared his dining table with a single sweep of his arm. standing almost as tall as dragonkin, He commanded with more than words. his manservant scurried out of the room, hurriedly ordering lesser servants to send for Maximus Thrax, Son of Beorhtic, Heir to the Grimhold.
“Yes M’lady, your father to be is quite upset at the adventures of your betrothed, Apparently the newest novel has decreed that he is blessed by the god of war and that he…is actually… a she. here is your liege’s copy if you would care to research further… like all the others.” giving a sly wink as they both understood she loved the books and her request that Valorous accompany Max was so that she could read of his adventures…

The journey to Fellmarg’s tomb seems calm an idyllic in the southern duchies of Cormyr, and even though the Order of the Griffon had no horses, there spirits remain high, mostly. Bulwurk boasts of the deeds they would accomplish and the songs that would be sung in their honor. Sora speaks little, and entirely in elvish, but the others cannot help but enjoy her presence as they walk. Often she will sprint ahead of the group to examine some bird or pick berries from trees. Stone plods along happily. Unlike other dwarves, Stone speaks often of gold and gems, and the best ways to find them. He claims he can even sniff out gold. For the other companions he speaks plainly and straight forward, but never passes an opportunity to jeer at Lucky, who appears to be the only member not enjoying their trek.

“I mean it Stone, I do not see why we can’t buy one horse. A small horse. A cheap. Small. Horse.” exclaims Lucky as he the group takes a break from their march. “I jest not when I say that I will be no good in a fight if my feet are battered and bruised.” Lucky had taken off his boots and is rubbing his feet, trying his best to present and honest visage of pain and suffering.

“Ye doan need a herse, Looky. The walk isn’t nearly as bod ’ere in the south lands. Moradan es coovered en rockeh heels that will really broose yer wee feet. An we cannae affoord a herse. Mehbe after we be compliten this mission fer the prince.” Stone takes a large bite from his dried venison as Sora came running back down the path. Lucky expects she found some rare skunk or another yellow flower that captivated her.

“Lufanis gowere moshen hai Fellmarg,” she exclaims excitingly. Bulwark and Lucky both turn to the dwarf, who has become her interpreter for the group. Sighing, Stone translates.

“She says we ‘ave foond the entrance to the toomb of Fellmarg, an that Looky should put back on his bewts ’cus he’s oopsetting the balence uf nature here.”

“You made that last part up Stone.” The troop quickly crested the hill revealing the cursed Tomb of Fellmarg.

A fire burns warmly, but casts little light into Prince Heward’s study. The flickering shadows only hint at the vast number of books and scrolls that fill the many shelves. Slowly Prince Heward walks over to the fire.

“Well, my friends, you wish to work for the king? Go one a secret mission for king and country?”

“About that m’lord,” starts Lusciano, who is quickly silenced by the hand of the prince.

“Do not interrupt me again, mageling. As I see it, you volunteered for the job. Perhaps you’ve heard rumors around town about someone spreading the word of the Xoriati gods?” The blank looks on the companions faces told the prince that they were not familiar with the old ones. “I have reason to believe that someone seeks to bring back Zargon, the Returner. An ancient being from a time before the Vyshaantarii Empire. I need some adventurers that can work without being connected to the royal crown. I have sent a few Purple Dragons to find information and they have not returned. I am hoping you can prevail where they have not.”

“We will succeed!” exclaims Bulwark without a second thought.

“Indeed noble barbarian, I believe you can. Lets start this on a trial basis. I need you to enter the catacombs which contain Fellmarg’s Tomb. You must seek out and destroy Verag, a foul Gargoyle who hides in the catacombs. I believe the Verag is in league with the Cult of Zargon. Fellmarg’s Tomb is in the Duchy of Westvold, it is not hard to find, but many believe the place is cursed. Do not disturb the tomb, only Verag and his minions.”

“It shall be done. Come my friends, we have a mission.” Bulwark storms from the study with grim determination , followed quickly by Stone. Sora looks at Lucky and follows the dwarf, leaving Lucky looking between the open doorway and the prince.

“yes wizard, you will be compensated for your efforts,” says the prince, who then furrows his brow and adds, “Aventro, where have I heard that name before?”

“Fear not my liege, we are at your service. My stalwart companions are tenacious if nothing else.” Lucky bows and then exits the study, running to catch up with his band. Prince Heward waves his hand and the door closes, walks over to one of the many bookcases, and selects a text on Cormyrian lineage.

Duke William of Northwarden has returned from Suzail and word is that he is under pressure to better defend his duchy from the giant raids from across the Sea of Storms.

Baron Baalthazar, formerly the half-dragon knight of Baron Giogioni Wyvernspur, has been elevated into the Barony of White Beard’s Landing. The town is said to already be prospering and merchants are now considering visiting the place.

King Svybaald of Telemark has sent word to King Roderick II of Cormyr that he has learned that the giants of Raumatharr have built some sort of colony within the fjords to west of his realm. He has suffered several raids from the giants and thinks that the colony within the fjords is the origin of the raids against northern Cormyr marshall from.

The forbidden Cult of the Dragon is said to have designs on one of a number of the baronies along the Sword Coast and Baron Carsyn Rowanmantle of Greenest has sent alarming reports to his liege lord, Count Carthyn Blacksilver of the County of North Forest, that his agents have learned that the area nearby has a large number of cultists operating within.

The Blue Company is rumored to be seeking new charter- this one signed by the new Baron Baalthazar. Moreover, the Moron of Grimhold, a member of the Company, has last month, reportedly slain a hill giant and exterminated a small clan of orcs within the Principality from whence he hails. It is rumored that he travels with a war priest of unknown origin and is seeking to return to the Blue Company.

The barons of the three Counties within the Duchy of the Northern Marches are said to have been embarrassed by the promotion of the lizard knight into their ranks. The Duke has sternly spoke in favor of the lizard and commands his counts to monitor their barons.

The High Priest of the Northwarden’s Temple to the Morninglord, The Citadel of the Northern Dawn, has continued to be alarmed at the rumors of someone preaching in the name of the Xoriati gods. He is said to be meeting with several of his peers within the Duchy of Yorkshire and the Duchy of Lancaster on the topic.

News from the mainland

The Magocracy of Gothaya has started to engage in naval raids upon the Kingdom of Svenlande from across the Bitter Sea, now that the spring thaw is underway. The Lotharian Theocracy is is bracing for renewed warfare from Gothaya upon its eastern frontier.

The Sultan of Calimshan is rumored to have issued letters of Marque to pirates and privateers so that raids along the western coast of Faerun and commence. These raids as said to maybe even go as far north as the coastlines of southern Cormyr.

People step gingerly out of the way as the tall dark-haired warrior as he strides into the magistrate’s office of Suzail. His muscular, shirtless frame draws eyes more than a few ladies in the stone building. They hide their smiles as they assess the northern barbarian’s swarthy physique. Bulwark wastes no time finding the well dressed scribe who scoffs at the barbarians approach. Behind them the door rattles open as the barbarian’s companions enter trying to keep up with him. They hurry to the table where the scribe gives an inaudible sigh and eyes each of the members. The dark haired barbarian, obviously from the principality of Grimhold stands proudly dressed only in buckskin breeches and fur boots. A broadsword that had seen too many winters, yet maintained with a well honed edge was strapped to his back. Besides him a dwarf, probably from the lands of Morridan to Grimholds west stands stoically beside him. Stones with dethek runes were woven into his bright red beard indicating he is a member of the Runestone clan. The dwarf wears simple leathers, leather cap and a drusus, unconventional for a dwarf and the scribe assumes that he is probably a rogue, the worst type, a dwarf rogue. Next to the dwarf stands a female sun elf, her golden hair is tied back and wears travelling leathers much like the dwarf. She also carries a short sword, but carries herself as a spellcaster. The Thieve’s Guild call them Spellfilchers and are highly paid in Cormyr. The scribe secretly motions to the guards who move to block the door and rest their hands on the swords. The last member of this troupe, a wizard who smiles sheepishly at the scribe. Wearing a blue tabbard and traveling breeches, the style of his clothes is that of Halruaa and the single gem on his forehead indicates he has been initiated as a wizard. The barbarian defiantly rests one fist on his hip and holds out pouch of silver falcons, allowing them to fall to the table with an audible clink.

“I’d like to purchase a writ of adventuring,” states the steely eyed Barbarian. The barbarian is taller than the stories he had heard, but it was obvious who he was, considering his lack of wit.

“It’s called an adventuring charter; you are the Moron of Grimhold, I presume,” replies the scribe. As expected Bulwark looks perplexed at the question, a look that quickly turns to rage as he reaches for the broadsword on his back. The guards draw their swords and prepare for the fight that is about to ensue. The dwarf quickly steps in front of the barbarian and places a hand on his companion to diffuse the situation.

“Are ye daft man? Aye this worrior be from the lands of Grimhold, but he not be dat idjit. Do ya see any lizards wit us. Dis be Bulwark, Barbarian warrior of Grimhold. I be the dwarf warrior Ulric Runestone.” The scribe motions for the guards to stand fast and smiles at the pair.

“My apologies, I mistook him for another Grimholder, they all look alike to me.” Opening the bag the scribe begins counting the falcons at an excruciatingly slow pace, going so far as to test the weight of suspicious looking coins. Even the normally patient dwarf seems irritated by the scribes antics. It’s not until the wizard steps forward, scoots the bag out of the way and taps on the table does the scribe take notice.

“Excuse me good sir, hi. How are you? Excellent. My name is Lusciano, Lusciano Aventro. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? No? Lucky Lusciano? Still nothing, huh? Oh never you worry, here’s the situation, we’re in town for a short period of time, we have a very special mission from a very special person, you may have heard of him, but we’re not allowed to tell you his name. All I can say is that he may or may not be a wizard and may or may not be of royal lineage. So that being said is there anyway we can speed up this process?” Lucky Lusciano places five gold lions onto the table hoping the bribe will speed the process up. The scribe, irritated by the group decides he has had enough of these outlanders and motions for the guards.

“Bribing a city official is capitol offense. Your request is forfiet and you shall…” The scribe is cut off before he can finish the sentence.

“That’s all right Cedric, these adventures are here at my behest. I asked them to obtain a charter so that everything can be legal when they assist me.” The scribe, Cedric, looks over to see Heward Ireabor step out of the shadows of the room. The arch-mage of the Cormyrian war wizards briskly dusts non-existent dirt from his impeccable purple robes. His neatly trimmed beard and shoulder length hair makes a dashing figure and he appears equally at ease in any setting.

“My apologies m’lord. I’ll get this done right away. What is the name of your company?” The scribe starts scribbling furiously with his quill.

“The Brotherhood of the Griffon,” states the barbarian, Bulwark, stepping forward.

“I heard the Brotherhood was wiped out in the northern wildlands, how did you come about this name?” Asks Prince Heward with genuine interest.

“I met a warrior in Skullwatch named Falin, he asked if I could help rebuild the brotherhood. So I came here to obtain a char-ter of adventuring.” Bulwark smiles at the scribe at remembering the name. The dwarf, Stone, puts his and over his face and the wizard, Lucky, just looks down and shakes his head. Prince Heward smirks and motions for the Cedric to continue.

“Can I get your names, any titles you carry, and your profession?” asks Cedric.

“In the effort to save time, allow me. The tall, dark, and shirtless one is Bulwark the Barbarian. He claims to have no last name, nor any title to speak of. My Short companion is, as he said, Ulric Runstone. We call him Stone for short. He is a warrior from Morridan. The quiet elf is Soranthena Hai Gwaedhel, we call her Sora; she is a Spellsword from some far away place I never learned to pronounce. And I am Lusciano “Lucky” Aventro, Halruuan wizard."

“And you are the leader of this group?” asks Cedric.

“Me? No; what would give you that idea. Bulwark is the leader.” Both Cedric and prince Heward look at the mage in astonishment.

Cedric quickly finishes the charter and sprinkles some sand to help it dry. “M’lord, would you like to sign this yourself?”

“Yes of course.” Prince Heward leans over the table, whispers and incantation, and a purple sigil appears on the page. “Now, if you four will accompany me. We’ll discuss that special mission you aren’t suppose to be talking about.”

Lucky gulped at the idea of what the arch-mage may have in store for them.